


Cut From Marble, Smoother Than a Storm

by JackEPeace



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: AU, F/F, Hunger Games AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2015-11-16
Packaged: 2018-05-02 00:46:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5227421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackEPeace/pseuds/JackEPeace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daisy rolls her eyes. "Did it occur to you that maybe she's not just your trained monkey? Or that she's been through a lot and it's not like she survived being in the Hunger Games twice just to be your spokesperson." </p><p>(Obligatory Hunger Games AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cut From Marble, Smoother Than a Storm

**Author's Note:**

> So I feel like I could write Hunger Games AUs for days and never get tired of it. I have a lot of Hunger Games feels and a lot of Skimmons feels so when you put them together...it gets dangerous. The title comes from the song "Yellow Flicker Beat" by Lorde because it seemed fitting.

"So, how exactly does someone end up in this position?"

Daisy means for it to be a joke, a sort of ice breaker, but her words seem to fall flat and are met by only silence. Jemma just looks back at her, her eyes tired and unamused.

Rather than try to make further conversation, Daisy just fiddles with the camera in her hands, checking the lens and the memory card stuck in the side of the device. Everything appears to be in perfect working order. She checks it again, just to make it look like she's busy.

Beside her, Jemma remains silent, seeming stiff and uncomfortable in her own skin. Or, maybe it's not the skin she's in but the clothing that's bothering her. Daisy really can't blame her; while impressive and protective, the outfit that her 'beauty crew' has trussed her up in looks far from comfortable. It is form fitting and the black draws a sharp contrast to the creamy paleness of Jemma's skin; Daisy is certain that was exactly what the team had in mind when they dressed her that morning.

"Okay." Daisy clears her throat, looking away from Jemma's…form and back to her camera. "I think we're ready to go."

Jemma doesn't move, doesn't acknowledge that she heard Daisy at all. Daisy stands, putting the camera on her shoulder and then pausing, turning back to face her. "Hey. Did you hear me?"

"Oh. Sorry." Jemma blinks, looking up at her. "What did you say?"

Daisy feels bad for her, which is pretty much exactly what President Price wants to make everyone else in the Districts feel for her. "I said are you ready to go." She repeats, clearing her throat again. "I mean…we could always reschedule or…"

"No." Jemma says, pushing herself up to her feet. "Let's get this over with." Her fingers close around the quiver of arrows, slinging it across her shoulder. The gesture seems effortless and it's the most natural Daisy has seen her since they brought her to Thirteen.

Of course, Jemma wasn't exactly conscious during that process so Daisy decides not to hold it against her.

They move toward the tiny Quinjet and Daisy relaxes a little bit when she sees May behind the wheel. The stick, whatever. "I hate these things." She mumbles to Jemma, another attempt at making friendly conversation. "Flying…not my thing."

Jemma gives her a distracted sort of lip twitch that Daisy assumes could be a smile. "So how did you end up with this particular assignment?"

Daisy pats the camera affectionately. "You think everyone knows how to use something like this?" She quirks an eyebrow. "No way. President Price knows who has the real talent."

"Then I suppose I'm in good hands." Jemma replies, taking her seat in one of the uncomfortable half-chairs that are bolted to the wall. "I trust that you won't make me look too stupid. I don't exactly excel on camera."

"Nah, don't say that." Daisy straps herself into the seat across from Jemma's. There isn't much of an aisle between them and she thinks if she tried to stretch out that she would easily bump into Jemma. "I saw your interviews from before."

Jemma grimaces and her face starts to close up again and Daisy instantly regrets her comment. Of course, it makes sense that Jemma wouldn't want to do much chatting about things from before. Especially things involving the Games.

"Sorry." Daisy grumbles and, once again, her attention returns to the camera in her lap.

Jemma says nothing but Daisy tries not to take it personally. They wait there in silence until the rest of the team shows up: Mack, the only other person Daisy trusts with camera equipment; Hunter and Bobbi, born and bred and trained in Thirteen; and Fitz, a transplant from Twelve just like Jemma. Daisy knows the history between the two of them is a little…unconventional. Strained. She feels guilty; pretty much everything she knows about Jemma has been fed to her by the Capitol and skewed for their purposes. Of course, the Capitol had no way of knowing how else their footage and Victors would be used.

Otherwise Daisy wouldn't be standing here right now.

As the Quinjet lifts out of Thirteen, the only conversation on the plane comes in the form of the low murmurs being exchanged by Bobbi and Hunter. They seem relaxed and at ease, like so many of the soldiers that Daisy has gotten used to seeing around every corner in Thirteen. They've been preparing for this particular war for quite some time.

Jemma fidgets nervously with the bow across her lap, running her fingers along the string. She seems just as taunt and tensed as the curve of her bow, though Daisy isn't entirely sure that she's as prepared for violence.

"Hey," Daisy says, mostly because she can't stand the silence anymore, "you have the script, right? The one that President Price and Coulson wrote for you?"

Jemma nods, making a face. "Yes, I have it memorized."

Daisy can't blame her for sounding less than enthused. It's hardly award-winning material but it's not exactly her place to criticize or offer suggestions. She's behind the camera for a reason. "Okay, so it's going to be easy. You just say the words and hold the bow and we'll film you. Easy as pie."

"Yes." Jemma nods and there's just a hint of a smile on her lips. "Pie."

"Don't worry." Mack chimes in, hefting the impressive camera equipment into the shell on his body. The camera fits right into the frame, locking in place. Daisy prefers to keep her hands on her camera at all times. "After everything you've been through all ready, this will be easy."

He means well but Daisy can see the darkness cross Jemma's eyes, the slight furrow in her brow, the way she doesn't look at Fitz or the others. Daisy wants to reach over and put an arm on her shoulder or on her knee, to offer a sympathetic smile and a squeeze but she and Jemma really only know each other in passing and she doesn't want to overstep. Coulson selected her to hold the camera not to offer her two cents or condolences.

They finally reach the outskirts of Ten and May sets the Quinjet down just as easy as you please. Daisy steps outside, her boots crunching against the dried hay and tufts of grass, her nose wrinkling at the sharp, earthly smell. Ten is pretty much still in tact, untouched by the Capitol because of their own dependence on the livestock kept there; the District itself is still in limbo, undecided on its stance in this whole rebellion game. Like most of the Districts, honestly. It was an obvious choice for their first propo; Twelve is destroyed and so is Eleven and the last thing Price wants is for people to associate their rebellion with bombed out Districts. So Ten it is.

Jemma steps out of the Quinjet, standing stiffly beside her and squinting in the sun. After even a few weeks in Thirteen, the bright light seems utterly foreign. She lifts a hand to her brow, studying the large expanse of flat, unbroken earth around them. She looks at Daisy quizzically, as if to say 'here?' Daisy only shrugs in return.

Bobbi and Hunter make a quick loop around the jet and the surrounding space before determining that the only threat could possibly come from the cows grazing several yards away. The cows look unimpressed by their presence.

"Okay," Daisy says, lifting her camera to her shoulder, "I think maybe over here will be good?" She points toward a piece of land that looks no different than the rest of the land around them. "Good lighting."

Mack looks at her like he knows that she's full of shit but moves to get into position anyway. Daisy walks with Jemma toward the decided upon location; Fitz hangs back with Hunter and Bobbi, his hand resting loosely on the gun at his waist. She can tell by the look on his face that there's a part of Fitz that has yet to forgive Jemma for what happened in the Games and after, yet he's still unwilling to cut her off completely. Not now; not when it's obvious how much rests on her.

"So just…stand here…" Daisy coaches, pointing. Jemma stands as instructed and looks at her expectantly. Daisy wrinkles her nose. "You need to…loosen up a little. Look more…natural…"

Jemma tries to loosen up her shoulders, going for causal and relaxed. Somehow it looks worse. Daisy steps toward her, reaching out and then stopping. "May I?" Jemma nods and Daisy quickly rearranges her, letting her hand linger on the small of her back. "There. Better."

Well, good enough, anyway. Jemma looks at her, holding Daisy's gaze as she steps away from her. Daisy looks quickly back toward the camera because that's easier than studying Jemma's eyes and wondering what she's thinking, what's running through her head and why it felt electric to touch her.

Daisy steps back, lifting her camera. The sun frames Jemma beautifully, reflecting across her dirty blonde curls and casting a long shadow out in front of her. Her beauty crew seems to have decided to go for natural rather than overdone and her freckles stand out across her cheeks and nose; Daisy never noticed them before, they were too obscured by all the makeup the Capitol slapped onto her before the Games.

"Okay…" Daisy nods toward Mack, who gives her a thumbs up, his camera already rolling. "Action."

Jemma swallows, reaching back and pulling an arrow from the quiver on her back. She notches it against her bow string, the motion fluid and effortless, and she looses the arrow. It soars far out of sight. Jemma turns her head toward the camera and the fluidity in her movements has suddenly disappeared.

"The Capitol is the real enemy. They've taken your children and murdered the people you love." Jemma recites, her tone flat. "They live in luxury while we suffer to give them everything. Unite together to stop the Capitol. Band together to bring down President Whitehall."

There's a pause. Daisy can't help but let her gaze slide toward Mack; he makes a face.

"Let's…try that again." Daisy says cheerfully, looking back toward Jemma. "Maybe with…a bit more feeling."

Jemma looks toward Fitz, who just shrugs, though his face says it all. Not exactly the rousing speech they were looking for.

Dutifully, Jemma speaks the words again and again, shooting the arrows and trying to convince people to sever their loyalties and fight against the Capitol. Each time, Daisy tries to find something redeeming about it but each time she finds herself suggesting that Jemma give it another shot.

Finally, it's clear that that isn't going to work. "Okay, let's take a break." She puts her camera down, rolling her shoulder against the tightness in her muscles. "We'll try again in a minute."

They separate without actually going very far; there's no where to go. Jemma sets aside her bow and quiver, putting her back to the rest of them and walking. Daisy watches her as she stands there, staring off toward the cows grazing in the distance. After a beat, she follows after her, coming to stand beside her. Jemma doesn't immediately tell her to get lost so Daisy figures that's as good an invitation as any for her to hang around.

"I'm sorry." Jemma says, her gaze still fixed straight ahead. "I…I can't do this. President Price should have picked someone else to lead this rebellion."

Daisy shakes her head. "Don't be ridiculous. There isn't anyone else."

Jemma tightens her jaw and Daisy can tell that her meaning wasn't quite clear enough. "Look, I'm sorry. I know that you didn't ask for any of this; you didn't want to be in the Games and everything with Will…you guys did what you had to do to win, to stay alive. And then they put you back in the Arena and killed him anyway and…the last thing you want to do is keep fighting, keep putting yourself out there."

Jemma furrows her brow slightly. "Well, when you put it that way…"

"You know I'm from the Capitol, right?" Daisy interjects before Jemma can say anything more.

"Your appearance sort of gives you away." Jemma replies, a hint of affection in her tone. She points toward her hair –short but finally starting to grow out since she's been in Thirteen- and the twisting forest green and midnight blue tattoos twisting down the nape of her neck and across her shoulders like vines before disappearing out of sight beneath her tank top.

Daisy shrugs. "You asked how I ended up with this particular assignment, how I ended up being the one Coulson and Price wanted to film the propos." She says. "After you won the Games, people started to talk…they started thinking about rebellion. I left the Capitol because I wanted to be a part of that. Because I believed in you."

There's an odd taste in her mouth, something heavy and metallic; the truth rests just on the tip of her tongue but she can't bring herself to finish, to tell the rest of the story.

Jemma purses her lips, closing her eyes briefly. She looks away from Daisy, back toward the fields. "You aren't the first person who has said something like that to me." She admits. "People in Thirteen keep coming up from to me, people from all different Districts. Telling me that they left their homes, that they ran away, that they want to fight…because of me.

"At first, it was hard for me to believe that it wasn't just me…that I wasn't the only one who…President Whitehall killed Will. He's responsible for everyone who has died in the Hunger Games. He's responsible for everyone in Twelve and Eleven and Ten and all the Districts who died doing something they wouldn't even benefit from, who died to make things better for the people who live in the Capitol. Back home, the children were always hungry; they were starving while people in the Capitol had so much food that they couldn't even imagine eating it all. And I never thought…I never realized…it wasn't until people started telling me why they left that I realized that we really are all the same."

Daisy rests a hand on her shoulder, giving it a squeeze. "It's okay." She says softly. "Things will be different."

Jemma looks up at her. "They have to." She says softly. "We can't live like this anymore. We have to fight back."

Her voice is stronger now, more certain. Like this realization is only just now crossing her mind.

Daisy nods. "We will."

Movement in the background catches her attention and she tenses, looking past Jemma. But it's only Mack. Daisy can see the red light on his camera blinking and she feels a brief stab of guilt and an even briefer flare of annoyance that Mack decided to film their conversation. But Mack holds up his hand, giving them a thumbs-up and she tries not to feel so angry.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The propo isn't what Price and the rest of her team had in mind but it's all they've got for the moment. Daisy sits in silence in the control room, staring down at the surface of the table in front of her rather than watch the footage play out on the screen. But she can hear her voice, talking to Jemma quietly, sharing half-truths. Jemma's voice is louder, growing more self-assured with each word and she does have to admit that it's strangely affective; it's definitely better than the crap that Price wrote. Daisy looks up in time to see her film self reach out and put her hand on Jemma's shoulder.

"We'll have to edit it a little." Price mumbles, her fingers steepled under her chin. "But it'll do."

Coulson looks over at her and Daisy pretends not to be able to read the expression in his eyes.

"You should have seen the other attempts." Mack chimes in from where he's standing in the back of the room. "This is way better. She's not exactly…lively."

Price shrugs, staring at the image frozen on the screen. "Yes, we'll have to work on that."

Daisy rolls her eyes. "Did it occur to you that maybe she's not just your trained monkey. That she's been through a lot and it's not like she survived being in the Hunger Games _twice_ just to be your spokesperson?"

"No one is saying that, Daisy." Coulson tells her gently, patting her knee. "Jemma is fine the way she is. The face of the rebellion."

"Maybe she doesn't want to be."

Price frowns at her. "She's our best hope at getting the other Districts to unite against the Capitol." She says. "After that…she can retire." She holds her palms upward as if to say _after that it's none of my concern_.

Daisy quirks an eyebrow. "And what about the Capitol? Do you think President Whitehall is just going to forget about her because she's retired?"

"I think we're done here." Price says, getting to her feet and pushing her chair out behind her. "We'll begin editing the footage and we'll have it broadcasting across the Districts by tonight."

Daisy gets to her feet as well, hurrying out of the control room before the rest of them. She has no idea why her body is so tense and twisted; why her heart is hammering in her chest. She doesn't exactly like Price but that doesn't mean that she's interested in going toe-to-toe with her. It won't accomplish much anyway.

Daisy finds Jemma in the cafeteria, a tray of mostly uneaten food in front of her. "Don't let Price see that. You know wasted food is like a federal offense here."

Jemma looks up at her, surprised. But she doesn't seem to think that Daisy's presence is unwelcome. "Help yourself. I'm not very hungry."

Daisy sits down beside her, reaching for the bread and tearing it in half. "I'm starving." Which is stretching the truth a bit. She holds out one of the halves to Jemma, who rolls her eyes but takes it.

"I thought you said you were starving." Jemma remarks after several minutes pass in silence. "You aren't eating."

"Neither are you." Daisy gives her a pointed look.

Jemma rolls her eyes but tears off a smaller bite of bread, popping it into her mouth. Daisy starts eating as well, though she really has no interest in the dry, scratchy bread at the moment.

"So I just saw the propo." Daisy tells her. "Well, some of it. Rosalind seems…well I don't want to say pleased because I don't think she's ever happy about anything but…I think it'll work."

Jemma nods, smiling. "Good. I'm sure she'll want me to stick to the script next time."

"The script sucks." Daisy retorts. "You just need to…be you, you know. You're the reason that people want to fight."

"I don't know why." Jemma says softly. "I'm not…I'm nothing special. I'm just afraid, all the time."

Daisy has a growing list of reasons why that's not true. "You are." She assures Jemma. "And if we win…when we win…things will be different. You won't have to be afraid anymore."

Jemma scoffs. "That would be quite the change."

Daisy reaches for her hand, holding onto it. Jemma doesn't pull away and Daisy feels a strange thrill of victory. It's another strange taste on her tongue but this time it's sweeter and more full of promise.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

After that, they don't see each other just when Price wants another propo. There isn't much to do in Thirteen when you aren't one of Price's top dogs or trusted advisers and whatever time isn't spent doing chores is theirs to do with what they will. Daisy has no problem spending that time with Jemma, as long as Jemma is willing. Often, they don't do much of anything at all, hanging out in the quiet of Jemma's private room while the upper levels of Thirteen buzz with the prospect of approaching war. They're both experts at skirting the issues of their pasts but any other conversational topics are free range. Daisy thinks it's quite nice to see Jemma smile and mean it, even if the gesture is fleeting and infrequent.

Coulson gives them clearance to go above ground, to the sun and grass and copses of trees, as long as they have an escort. Bobbi never complains about chaperoning, no doubt enjoying the sun and fresh air as much as Jemma and Daisy. Daisy thinks it's good for Jemma, that being kept trapped down below is hardly a good way to heal. Plus, Jemma consents to teaching her how to use the bow which, in all honesty? A lot harder than it looks.

"You'll get used to that." Jemma assures her after their third lesson, when they're back in Jemma's room, tilting her chin toward the blisters on Daisy's hands. "The more you practice, the tougher your hands will get."

Daisy winces, gritting her teeth at the flash of pain that even the slightest movement brings. "Yeah but I don't want to practice because it freaking hurts."

Jemma nods, understandingly. "Well the food in Thirteen might not be Capitol quality but at least it removes the necessity of having to hunt with blisters on your fingers."

"Yeah, I guess that's a good point." Daisy says. "I'm so-"

"Don't say sorry." Jemma turns away, pulling open the top draw of the dresser in her room and pulling out one of the small, plastic standard issue first aid kits that every citizen in Thirteen has at close reach. "I'm tired of people being sorry for me."

Daisy rolls her eyes. "Jemma, no one feels sorry for you." She assures her. "I mean, yeah, it sucks, everything you've been through. But you're strong and crazy resilient and I really don't think anyone pities you."

Jemma doesn't say anything, just swabs at Daisy's palms with the antiseptic. Daisy winces, nearly biting her tongue. "Shit."

"Sorry." Jemma swallows, looking up at hurt. "I know it stings."

"Yeah, it really-"

Jemma leans forward and her kiss takes Daisy completely by surprise. Their teeth click together and it takes a second for them to get their mouths to match up but when they do…Daisy forgets all about the sting in her hands and the burning in her muscles.

"What…what was that for?" Daisy looks at Jemma, confused and breathless.

"Because I wanted to." Jemma says softly. "Because _I_ wanted to."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"The propos are working." President Price announces at dinner one evening, her voice ringing, loud and strong, throughout the cafeteria. All eyes are on her and that knowledge only seems to fortify her. "We are in almost constant communication with nearly all of the Districts. They have all begun rebelling in their own way."

Applause rings out and a few people whistle and cheer and Price only seems to stand up straighter. "Once we have all of the Districts on board, the Capitol will be powerless to stop us."

Price's eyes shift toward the table where she seems to know, instinctively, that Jemma is sitting. "Thanks to our secret weapon." She smiles.

The applause grows louder. Jemma looks down at her plate; Daisy takes her hand under the table.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The nights are the hardest, Daisy comes to expect that. She comes to expect being awoken at some point during the night by a shout, a cry, a flailing limb or a kicking leg. She comes to expect Jemma's fingers clutching at her like claws or the flat feeling of her palms as she pushes her away, just for a moment, while the thoughts and memories still cling too tightly. She comes to expect the sound of frantic breaths in the darkness, the word "no" leaving Jemma's lips as she bolts upright and out of sleep.

Daisy has always been a light sleeper and is no stranger to being pulled out of sleep by a few nightmares of her own. As she listens to Jemma try to even out her breathing, Daisy blinks the last vestiges of sleep from her eyes. "Hey," she says softly, groggily, "it's okay."

She rolls away, reaching for the lamp beside the bed. "Don't," Jemma gasps suddenly and Daisy's hand freezes in place, "don't leave."

Immediately Daisy relaxes, moving back toward Jemma. "I'm not." She assures her. "Definitely not going anywhere."

Jemma rests her head against Daisy's chest; she reaches up absently, tracing the tattoos that twist across her skin. Jemma knows now that they go all the way down to her hips; Daisy knows now how it feels to have Jemma's lips tracing the curves and pattern.

Neither of them sleep much for the rest of the night; their grip never slackens.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"We have another idea for a propo." Coulson says, folding his hands against the surface of the table. Daisy and Mack are sitting across from him and even though he's the one delivering the words, Daisy knows the idea has come from Price herself. She knows exactly how to play her cards, how to find the right messenger for the job.

Daisy says nothing, something that Coulson seems to take as the okay to explain. "Some of the rebel groups have begun fighting back. We think it would be a good idea to have Jemma go visit their camps; it'll be good for them to see her and for the rest of the Districts to see her being more active in the rebellion."

"So that's the idea?" Daisy questions, her eyes finding Price over Coulson's shoulder. "Have Jemma do a little meet-and-greet? Is it safe?"

Price shrugs. "It's a war."

Daisy leans back in her chair. "Hasn't she been through enough?"

Price frowns, stepping forward. "Haven't we all been through enough? Don't act like she's the only one who has lost something in this." She says sharply. "We all have to make sacrifices. She isn't exempt because you're sleeping with her."

Both Coulson and Mack quickly lift their voices to protest her words and Daisy really does love them for it. But she's already getting to her feet, scowling toward the door. "You're the boss."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"I don't think I can do this." Jemma says softly in the early morning hours before they're expected to board the Quinjet once more and leave Thirteen. Daisy's camera is already waiting by the door, a solid reminder of what's to come. "They're going to look at me and see…they're going to know that I'm not worth fighting for."

Daisy kisses her forehead softly. "Don't say that." She whispers against her skin. "You have no idea how powerful you are."

Jemma scoffs. "I don't feel very powerful."

A beat. Two. Daisy is silent, considering. Her eyes meet Jemma's once more. "I used to be from Two. When I was a little girl. My father was a doctor there but my mother…she was different…she was never satisfied with the things that we had, with watching the Games like everyone else…she wanted to fight back.

"Whitehall found out, somehow I don't really know how. He killed her. Right there in our living room. And he took me to the Capitol so that he could be sure that my father wouldn't try to rebel, so that he wouldn't fight back. I grew up there but I wasn't…I never…"

Daisy sighs and Jemma rests a hand against her side. "I always felt guilty that I never did anything…that I didn't…I just lived there and I did what they said. Coulson was one of the old Gamemakers and he was always like a father to me. As I got older, I knew things weren't right, that we should do something but I was always…afraid." She closes her against, focusing on the pressure of Jemma's hand against her hip. "The first time I saw you on TV, you reminded me of my mother and I thought…" She looks at Jemma. "You have no idea the impression that you can have on people."

Jemma kisses her softly and their hands slide together, their fingers intertwining. The nightmares still come that night but they're a little easier to manage when they're together.


End file.
